


Lakehouse

by ewjared



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Artist Castiel, Fluff and Smut, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Physical Abuse, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-06
Updated: 2014-09-06
Packaged: 2018-02-16 08:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewjared/pseuds/ewjared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'profunda auro,' Cas tells Dean, looking up from his book. 'If feelings had a colour...' He kisses Dean softly, smiling. 'I love you.'<br/>Everything has a colour, Dean decides. Cas's eyes are blue, his skin ivory, and his love is deep gold.<br/>'I love you, too.'</p><p>- - - - -</p><p>Modern-day AU - Dean's hopeless and faithless; he's given up on life and everything that comes with it. At least, that's until he meets Castiel Novak - a hot but eccentric guy who shows Dean how to live again. Being with Cas is the best life Dean's ever known; but what happens when everything seems to be trying to tear them apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lakehouse

_ _

 

 

_and meet me there, bundles of flowers_  


 

 

Chapter One

 

He's sitting in a dimly lit restaurant eating seafood pasta he really doesn't enjoy (he hates the way mussels always leave a stale taste on his tongue for hours) while leafing through a book on animal anatomy. Probably not the best combination, he thinks, but he's never been bothered by things like most people. As he stares thoughtfully at a photo-realistic image of a horse's intestines, he stabs pasta onto his fork a little more violently than it deserves and slowly bites it off the silver cutlery, chewing pensively.

Cas isn't sure why he wants to be a vet, exactly; he just knows. Well. It might be something to do with the fact that as much as he likes art, he's just not that great, and art's even harder to make a living out of than being a vet. He could have joined his dad's building firm but that's definitely not something he's even considering.  
He's always preferred animals to humans, anyway. Something about the way they don't speak all of the time; the way they don't feel the need to fill silence with trivial, babbling chatter about stupid things that he _really doesn't care about thank you very much and could you please just be quiet because he's trying to study._

That line had never gone down well with his parents.

_'Get your nose out of that book and socialise for once, and then maybe it wouldn't have to be me doing all of the talking! I never see your face any more.'_

Cas sighs and rubs his temple with one hand, holding the book open with the other. If he doesn't study hard enough then there's no way he'll pass his final exams and actually get the qualifications he needs. He can just imagine how gleeful his father would be; how his brothers would rub it into his face.

_'You should be doing man's work. Sissy jobs like helping little baby animals isn't what I want of you.'_

_'What about what **I** want?'_

_'Don't disappoint me, son.'_

_'I'll pass the exams. You'll see.'_

_'Like I said. Don't disappoint me.'_

Cas feels a headache coming on and he groans, flipping the book shut as his eyes refuse to focus on it, the little printed words blurring in front of him.

 

He distracts himself by shovelling in more pasta. It's starting to go cold and he eyes it with distaste.

Everything in his life seems to have gone cold, recently. Ever since he left home and moved to a small town and found a tiny apartment above a convenience store, he feels as if he's living in shades of grey, moving through thick fog and breathing in the dull monotony of each day as he goes.

Although he can hardly complain; if life's grey now, it was black before; black and red and a deep purple the colour of bruises, the bruises he'd watch fade to yellow in the bathroom mirror under a flickering light.

He's never really gotten on with his family and the bruises were proof; so as boring as life might be, he'd take it any day over that period of his life. He never really likes to talk about it. (If changing the subject was an art, he'd be winning awards left, right, and centre by now.)

He hasn't even set eyes on his family in a very long time, maybe four years. That's probably why he's so damn nervous right about now. Forget butterflies; his stomach's full of fat, heavy slugs, a churning mass of them weighing him down like an anchor pulling a ship to a halt. That's what this reunion with his family is, really; they're the anchor pulling him backwards towards the darkness, stirring memories he's tried his hardest to forget.

He pushes the rest of his food away as he hikes up his sleeve to look at his watch.

7:30pm. They're already half an hour late and he thinks that if they dare complain about the fact that he's already eaten he'll leave straight away.

He runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to flatten it despite knowing it won't work - his hair has a force of it's own, unruly and unwilling to work with any styling products he lathers into it.

 

He's distracted as someone calls his name.

'Castiel?' He looks around to see a waitress with brown hair tied tightly back into a bun scanning the room.

'Castiel Novak?' _As if there's more than one Castiel here anyway,_ he thinks, before raising a hand wearily. 'Here.' He calls, and watches her eyes light up as she spots him. She's pretty and he thinks that if he was fifteen and confused again he might have fancied her.

He watches as she turns away and beckons to someone; watches as she leads a group of people towards his table. (four seats besides his own; he'd felt awfully stupid sitting here by himself for half an hour.)

His parents, brother, and sister walk towards him with blank expressions and he feels his heart sink into his shoes. (His sister, Anna, is a little more welcoming with an almost-smile gracing her lips; but he can't bring himself to meet her eyes and he stares at his brother's hostile expression instead.)

They sit down stiffly, backs ramrod-straight against their chairs, elbows bent at a ninety-degree angle and hands placed palms-down on the table in front of them.

He wonders if they know how plastic they look.

 

'Mum. Dad. Anna. Uriel.' He says, and they nod.

'Castiel.'

'It's been a while.' He tries, and is rewarded by their frosty gazes, probably cold enough to freeze the water in the glasses if they stare at it long enough. (He's still not looking at Anna. He's scared of the pity he thinks he might see.)

'Not for our lack of trying.' His mother sniffs, bleach-blonde bob shifting slightly with the movement, and Cas feels a sliver of outraged anger boil to the surface.

After the amount of times he'd rung them only to be told ' _You're not our family any more. You need to move on.'_ ,it was no wonder he'd ignored them when they'd tried to return the calls over a year later.

He settles for clearing his throat instead, saying nothing.

'I see you've already eaten.' She says, and he closes his eyes for a second, drawing in a deep breath.

'I'm sorry.' He tells her. 'I should have waited.'

The waitress comes back; offers menus. His parents take them with no thanks and he feels embarrassed at their rudeness.

 _I'm not with them._ He wants to say. _They're not my family._

He's not even sure why he's attempting this reunion; it was their idea but he knows it's likely to be pointless. Four years of festering bitterness can do that to a relationship. He doesn't think they can ever be like a real family.

His father hasn't talked yet but scrutinises Cas instead, ice-blue eyes raking over first his hair and then his slightly scruffy beige trenchcoat.

Uriel's eyes are just as hard, eyeing Cas's loose tie and open collar. ( _still won't look at Anna_ )

'So, uh, how are you?' He asks, directing the question at Uriel.

He gets a non-committal grunt in reply and he wants to put his head in his hands. He opens his mouth, about to say something about the whole futility of their frankly ridiculous situation when he's interrupted.

 

'How's it going for you, Cas?'

Anna's voice cuts into the air like a blade and Cas twitches nervously. He looks up and finally meets her eyes head-on and it's like looking into a reflection. The same bright blue as his own eyes stares back at him and rather than seeing pity in them, they're unreadable. There's so much he wants to say; and yet he's never felt less free to talk in his life.

_You left me you could have stopped them you left me-_

'It's going all right. What about you?' He says instead, and he swallows down the words. They taste like ashes on his tongue, dry and bitter.

Anna smiles. 'It's good.' She says. 'But let's not talk about me; let's talk about you, Cas.' She hasn't looked away once – _has she even blinked?_ \- and Cas stammers a little as he replies.

'Oh, I'm really not that interesting.' He tells her. 'Nothing exciting ever happens to me.'

She nods. 'Fair enough.' She says, and Cas feels himself relax a little as her piercing gaze finally falls away as she looks down at her menu.

'Nothing exciting?' Uriel's voice is gravelly, grating. Rocks being dragged across granite. 'You sure about that?' He continues. 'I mean, ditching your family to go disappear halfway across the world isn't exciting enough for you?'

Cas feels the tension snap taut in the space between them; a wire so tight he could break it with a flick of his wrist.

Voice carefully mild, he replies, 'I only live, what, three hours away? That's hardly halfway across the world.'

'It may as well be for all the contact we've had.'

Anger snaps Cas's gaze up; Uriel's eyes are more grey than blue and at the moment they look as if there's a storm brewing inside them, lightning snapping across his thin irises.

'You're the one who spent six months telling me repeatedly that we weren't family any more.' Cas grinds out. 'You're the one who rejected my calls time and time again, and when you did answer them, it was just to tell me to _fuck off Cas you're not wanted_ so don't you dare-'

He pauses, breathes, focuses. He's quieter when he continues. 'Don't you dare tell me this is my fault because it never was.'

Uriel snaps out a laugh, a harsh, loud sound. 'Of course it's your fault.' He snorts. 'You're the one who's a fucking qu-'

'Not here! Not here-' Cas's mother speaks in hushed, urgent tones. 'We don't talk about that here.'

 

Cas wants to be sick.

 

'Are you serious?' He says. ' _We don't talk about that here._ Really?' His fists are tight balls under the table. 'Don't talk about this like it's something bad or taboo or like you can pass it on from just _saying the damn word_ because - ' he closes his eyes. 'Don't talk about this like I'm _diseased._ '

When he meets his mother's gaze, her eyes are sad. 'Oh, Cas, honey,' she says, and her words are sweet poison, toxic honey dripping from her tongue. 'I know you can't see how wrong it is, I know, but one day, you'll understand.' She smiles, red lips stretched awkwardly across her face. 'One day, you'll realise.'

'What, like you told me when I was seventeen? Or when I was twenty? Like you told me the day I walked out of that door?' Cas snaps. 'You've been telling me I'll “understand one day” my whole damn life and if there's one thing I understand, it's that the best decision of my life was leaving that godforsaken house.'

'Godforsaken house?' Cas's father's voice is harsher than a blizzard wrapped in barbed wire. 'Boy, you're the godforsaken one. It's _wrong_ , what you are.'

 

Suddenly, something clicks in Cas's head.

'You never really meant for this to be a “reunion”, did you?' He says. 'You just wanted to see if I was _cured_. Well, I'm not,' His nails are digging into his palms. 'And I never will be. Because there is _nothing to cure_.' He wants to scream; wants to curl his hand around the glass of wine in front of him until it shatters, embedding glass in the soft flesh of his hand. Wants to bleed and show his parents,

_Look see my blood is clean and red and just like yours I'm no different please won't you see?_

 

'I'm gay.' He says, his voice soft. 'I'm gay, and that's never going to change.' Tears prick at his eyes, thorns drawing salt-water blood - _please don't cry dammit don't you dare cry._

'All I have ever wanted is to be accepted.' Cas says. 'I just want us to be a family, a real family, but I think...I don't think we can.' He looks up, back down, wrings his hands. 'There's too much bad blood between us and I think it's probably best if we carry on the way we were.'

Silence rings in his ears and Cas thinks he can see a hundred threads of possibility stretching out before him. He wants to swallow the words but it's too late for that.

'We never raised you to be so ungrateful.' Cas's father's words are steel dipped in ice.  
'You never really raised me at all.' Cas snaps back and then instinctively cringes away at the twist of his father's frown.

'No, you're right;' he snarls, 'but we _tried_. We tried to raise you good and proper and you threw it back in our faces, running off with that _boy_.'

'Balthazar.'

' _Balthazar_. It doesn't matter. You think we could have that _wrongness_ in our family? So we tried, Castiel. We tried to get it out of you. To make you understand. Because we love you; can't you see that?'

 

_stay calm don't lose it deep breaths just back down and it'll be fine it's not too late just apologise_

 

'You don't know the meaning of the word love. Love is about respect and acceptance; not leaving fucking bruises all over your own son's body because you're afraid of the fact that he likes his own gender! You're a cruel, cold, cowardly son of a bitch and don't you dare call me part of your 'family' because you lost that right when you called me a “disgusting queer”.' Cas is breathing hard, heart speeding up as if he's preparing to run a marathon. (which he probably should be, with the look on his father's face.)

Storm clouds brew in the furrows of his father's brow and he can see from the shocked expressions on the rest of his family's faces that _that was definitely not a good idea_ but hell, he's too far gone to really care.

His father's voice drips icicles and cuts like a sharpened blade. 'You deserved every single bruise I laid on your skin. What you are is unholy and sinful.' He draws himself up, back even straighter than before, a one-hundred-and-eighty degree line.

'You, Castiel, are an abomination.'

 _Did I say I didn't care?_ Castiel thinks. _Wrong wrong wrong._

He doesn't think he's angry, not any more; he's hurt, the words slicing into his chest and cracking open his ribcage, exposing his battered heart.

'An abomination?' He repeats, wonderingly.

'Yes.' His father's words are final, set in stone. 'And I'm sure everybody at this table would agree.'

At that, Cas snaps his gaze up, a shred of defiance rearing its head. 'Actually, I think you'll find Anna doesn't.' (his breaths push in and out of his lungs in fast, desperate gasps of _please don't let me down again._ )

 

Uriel raises his eyebrows. 'Is that right, Anna?' He says.

She won't meet anyone's gaze but she shrugs. 'Maybe. I don't know.' She says and though it's not a full-on rebellion it makes Cas's heart skip a beat.

Anger kindles in Uriel's eyes and he narrows them.

'Oh, really?' He says. 'I guess that's why you didn't invite dear Castiel to your wedding, then? Or even to the christening of your new child?'

_Cas's heart, beating fast with hope, slows and stutters and shatters_

'Your...child?' He breathes. He looks down and finally notices a slim silver wedding ring on her left hand. He wants to cry.

She won't meet his eyes and he wants to say,

_you made all those promises stop breaking them stop breaking **me** ,_

but the words fade and falter and die on his tongue. He swallows them down, a bitter dose of betrayal.

'I never...' He chokes. 'I never knew I meant quite so little to you, Anna.' (his voice is steady and he's thankful.)

'No, Castiel – _Cas –_ ' She stutters and his nickname twists a knife in into his soul – 'Cas, no, I didn't mean it like that, I swear, I just-'

'You just what, Anna?'

(they both know they're not talking about the wedding or even the christening, not really, they're talking about hard fists and blood dripping onto pristine floors and a little boy crying out for his sister who _promised she promised she swore she wouldn't let them_ )

'I just – I'm sorry, Cas. I'm really, really sorry.' She murmurs.

'Forget it.' He says, and his voice sounds like flint dragging across the ground; he can tell by the way she flinches.

'Cas - ' She starts, but Uriel cuts her off.

'See, Cas,' he begins, but Cas isn't listening anymore, partly because it _hurts_ , but more because there's some sort of commotion going on by the disabled toilet a few metres away.

 

'I'm telling you – he's been in there for over twenty minutes!'

'Sir, please, I'm sure everything's in order.' The waiter's short, greasy-haired, straightening his bowtie as he lowers his voice. 'Look, sir – this _is_ a disabled toilet – we have to understand that it may take, uh, _longer_ , for a disabled person to -' Cas wants to laugh at how awkward the man looks.

The other man, taller, greying at the temples, interrupts him.

'He _wasn't even disabled_ , god damn it!'

Cas stands at this, a sinking feeling in his gut. He barely registers the sounds of his protesting family as he walks over to the two men, and then past them, to the door of the toilet.

_There is something very wrong._

 

'Excuse me, sir - ' The waiter holds out a hand and Cas brushes it away.

'Step back.' He says brusquely, and the waiter twitches nervously.

'Please - '

'I said, step away.'

Cas takes a few strides back; stalks forwards and lifts his leg, slamming a hard kick into the door. Something cracks but it doesn't budge and he repeats until the door caves and Cas runs in – the light's off and he hits the switch.

_He knows that smell, he knows it well, rust and copper and pain dripping onto the bathroom lino -_

There's blood all over the floor, all over his shoes and his jeans as he slips and skids onto his knees, cradling the head of the man lying on the floor.

Cas groans as he sees two deep, vertical slashes on the man's wrist; a clumsy-looking kitchen knife that looks ridiculously out of place lying on the floor beside him.

The waiter looks on with a horrified expression and Cas barks,

'Call an ambulance. _Now!_ '

The man nods and fishes out a phone and Cas turns his attention back to the head on his lap.

 

'Hey. Hey, can you hear me? I need you to open your eyes.' He says.

'I need you to look at me. Just open your eyes and nod if you can hear me.'

His view of the face is upside down but he's close enough to see gold buried in emerald green as the man's eyes flutter open, blinking sluggishly.

'Sammy?' The man's voice is weak and raspy. 'Sammy, m'sorry, Sammy - '

'Please, what's your name?' Cas asks. 'I'm not, uh, Sammy. What's your name?'

'Not Sammy? I'm – I'm Dean. Dean Winchester-'

And suddenly a heavy fringe of lashes rest on the man's – _Dean's –_ cheeks as his eyes slip shut once more and Cas swears. He tries to remember everything he's learned on his veterinary course.

 

_Apply pressure to the wound._

_Make sure the animal is not going into shock._

_Do not let it lose consciousness._

_Well Cas you really screwed that one up well done - **shut up**_

_Use a towel or any available material to bandage the wound, or if needed, as a tourniquet._

Cas rips the tie from around the waist of his trenchcoat and pulls it under Dean's arm.  
_His fingers slip on blood as they did when he traced his reflection with crimson fingers –_ _ **no Cas, no time for that, focus**_

He ties a knot, tight, and runs his hands through his hair. He feels sticky liquid on his scalp and remembers too late that his hands are covered in blood.

He turns back to the waiter, who's standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and wringing his hands.

'Did you call an ambulance?' Cas asks, and the man nods in reply.

'Good. Did they say when they'd arrive?'

'The, uh, ambulance station is only a couple of blocks away, sir, so they should be here in a couple of minutes.'

'Okay. Give me your apron.'

'Sorry?'

' _Give me your apron._ ' Cas snaps, and the waiter complies hastily.

'Here.'

'Thanks.' Cas folds it and presses it to Dean's wrist, pushing hard.

'Go watch for the ambulance.' He tells the waiter. 'Make sure they know exactly where to go when they arrive.'

'Yes. Yes, of course.'

 

The waiter leaves and Cas exhales sharply. The other man, the one who'd alerted them all to the incident, squats beside him.

'You a doctor?' He asks.

'No. Training to be a vet.' Cas tells him. 'Thank you for alerting everyone, by the way. I would never have known, otherwise.'

The man shrugs. 'Don't thank me. I just thought there was something off.'

Cas nods. 'Yeah, tell me about it.'

Gazing down at the wrist he's got a folded apron clamped over, he wonders what could have happened to make the man do something like this.

It's a sick sort of curiosity, he thinks. Nevertheless, he fully intends on sticking it out to the hospital; he feels almost obligated to make sure Dean winds up okay.

He should probably try to find out if he has a family, too, and how to contact them; but rather than searching for a wallet or ID he finds himself gripping Dean's wrist tighter. He turns to the man beside him.

 

'Can you, uh-' His voice catches and he coughs to clear his throat. 'Could you look through his pockets? See if there's any way to contact his family.'

The man nods and obliges, quickly patting the pockets on his jeans and searching though his coat. He pulls out a wallet and it's got a driver's licence; Cas scans the head-and-shoulders shot of Dean that looks a little old. He's got shorter hair, in carefully gelled spikes. As Cas looks down at Dean, he thinks he prefers his hair the way it's resting on Cas's lap, a little longer and fluffy. It still sticks up, but it looks as if it's just grown that way as a result of years of the same cut, rather than meticulous styling.

He uses one hand to flick through the contents of the wallet, one hand remaining firmly on the wound. He finds a small cream-coloured card; the name on the front says ' _Sam Winchester_ ' in raised, gold writing. Cas takes note of the surname. Below, it has an email address and telephone number.  
Underneath, in more of the raised, gold script, it reads, ' _Law offices of S. Winchester_ ' and Cas raises an eyebrow before casting his gaze back down to Dean.

 _Lawyer brother, huh._ He thinks. _You don't really look the type._

Then again, he's not one to talk about looking the type.

He hardly thinks anyone who sees him in the street would instantly think, ' _oh hey, he's clearly gay._ '

Maybe it's the way he's been brought up, maybe it isn't, but Cas is one to know all about defying stereotypes.

'Hey, do you mind taking over while I call this number?' He asks the other man, and he nods before swapping places with Cas.

 

Cas walks a little ways down the corridor before pulling out his phone. He notices his fingers shaking as he stabs at the keys and frowns.

The phone only rings twice before someone picks up; a deep, male voice comes from the other end.

'Hello. Sam Winchester speaking.'

'Hi. You, uh, don't know me, but there's been an emergency.'

'Right...what sort of emergency?'

'It's your brother.' Cas says, and there's a long moment of silence before Sam replies.

'My brother and I aren't on the best of terms. We haven't spoken in a while. If he needs help again, please tell him he can go and find someone else to carry his weight for hi-'

'It was a suicide attempt.'

There's a shocked silence and then he hears Sam draw in a ragged breath.

'A what?'

'I found your brother in the restaurant bathroom with, uh, deep cuts on his wrist. I've called an ambulance.'

'Oh god. I didn't – I didn't, uh, I... I'll be right there.' Sam's voice is shaky and Cas winces in sympathy. 'Which restaurant?'

Cas reels off the name and address and Sam thanks him.

'Okay. So they'll take him to the hospital nearest?'

'I assume so.'

'Thanks. _Jesus_. This is such a mess.'

Cas sighs. 'I know.'

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

They won't let him into the ambulance, at first, and Cas really ought to just leave it – after all, he's never even met this man before, but at the same time he feels as if what he's just experienced was almost _intimate_. There's certainly something to be said for seeing a man in his dying moments.

'I'm his brother - ' Cas pants, as he struggles to free himself from the restraining arms. The men stand back and look him up and down.

'...Brother?' One mutters doubtfully, giving Cas a sceptical look.

'Adopted.' Cas growls, and pushes past them. Maybe they're actually stupid enough to believe him or maybe it's the sheer desperation on his face, but they offer no resistance as he climbs into the ambulance. Dean's on a stretcher with two nurses hovering over him. Cas can't see much with them blocking his view but he can see a bandage on Dean's wrist and he sighs in relief.

It's strange how quickly he finds himself concerned about Dean. You see a stranger fall in the street and you help them up, sure. But this kind of desperate hopping-into-ambulances and trying to smooth stress lines out of his forehead seems a little rushed when he thinks about the fact that he's never even met this man while he's fully conscious.

But whether or not Cas would admit to anyone, he's a romantic at heart, all about destiny and life-changing choices.

And he thinks saving Dean Winchester just might be one of them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The hospital's nearly empty, and even if it wasn't, it would still be easy to spot the ridiculously tall man speed-walking down the hall towards Cas.

He's got long hair and an even longer stride as he approaches, dressed in a sharp pin-striped suit and shoes with those noisy clicking heels Cas had always despised. On this man, though, they seem more impressive and imposing than stupid and he feels a grudging respect.

He's startled when the man stops in front of him.

'Hi. Do you know if there's a Dean Winchester in this ward?' The man asks. 'I was told to come here.'

 _Ah._ Cas thinks. _Sam. Dean's brother._

He stands and holds out a hand.

'Hi. You must be Sam; we spoke on the phone. I'm the one who found your brother.'

Sam's face clears in understanding and he shakes Cas's hand; firm, but not too tight. Warm palm, and, understandably, slightly sweaty. Sam's eyebrows are drawn into a tight frown and stress lines cross his forehead.

'I'm sorry.' He says. 'I never got your name.'

'Castiel. Castiel Novak.' He tells Sam. 'But please, call me Cas.'

It seems ridiculous to be exchanging formalities while someone's currently lying on a hospital bed receiving emergency treatment.

 _The world's a strange place,_ Cas thinks, and he smiles at Sam.

Sam smiles back, genuine warmth in his eyes, and the effect is instant; he looks younger, more handsome, lips pulling out into a grin and eyes lighting up. Cas can't help but like him already.

'Thank you.' Sam says. 'Believe me when I say I'm utterly grateful.' His grin fades fast. 'If you hadn't found him...'

Cas shakes his head. 'But I did.' He reassures Sam. 'And he's going to be fine.'

Sam sighs. 'I never saw this coming.' He says bleakly. 'Sure, Dean's had a lot of problems. But I never...I never thought it would get this bad.' His voice catches and Cas feels a pang of sympathy.

'Don't blame yourself.' He says.

Sam sighs. 'I won't. I _don't_. I just wish I'd seen it sooner.'

Cas struggles for a moment before his curiosity gets the better of him. 'Why would Dean do this, anyway?'

Sam sighs again, lines creasing his forehead once more.

'I don't know if I should tell you, but hey, I owe you one.' He laughs bitterly. 'After all, you did just save my brother's life.' He looks down before continuing. 'Dean's always been a drifter. Never settles, never stays. Never seems to have much of a plan, or purpose. Even as kids, his sole job was to look after me.'

Sam glances over at Cas.

 

'Our dad was never really around, and our mum died when I was only a baby. I don't remember her. Dean does, though, and I think it hurts him a lot more than he ever let on. Anyway, even when she was alive, our dad was never the best example of a father. Drank a lot, spent most of his time in bars, would come home and get rowdy. Nothing serious, from what Dean tells me, which isn't a lot, but enough that he and our mum would get into some pretty nasty fights. Dean was only a kid, not even ten, but he'd be the one to clean up out father's mess. Mum needed him, I needed him. He grew up being needed and I guess that shaped who he is now.

'Short story: I grew up. Left for Stanford, Dean stayed with dad. I don't think he knew what else he could do. Dad, being the top father that he is, was rarely there, drank a lot, and Dean doesn't like to talk about it much, but I don't think they got on, if you catch my drift.' Sam runs a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ears.

'The amount of times I visited them and had Dean open the door with a black eye and a split lip...I lost count. Dean and I would argue over it, too, which I know sounds pretty messed up. I'd love to say I was there for him, but at the time I just didn't understand why Dean stayed with dad. I get it now, though. At least, I think I do.'

Sam looks at Cas and there are myriads of emotion in his eyes.

 

'Dean has no sense of self-worth. His whole life, albeit unintentionally, he's been brought up believing that he's needed by others and if he's not, then he's not worth anything. I never saw this until too late, of course. But I think he thought that he deserved what he got. Mum had needed him and she'd died. I'd needed him, but I'd left. He probably couldn't understand why everybody who'd once needed him was abandoning him. Or why he'd failed to save them, or in my case, why he hadn't been good enough for them to want to stay. Dad didn't need him, of course.' Sam snorts bitterly.

'All dad needed was a beer and some food and he was good to go. Treated Dean like a piece of dirt and Dean just took it. It made me mad, you know, seeing him like that. Obeying our father's every order like a soldier. Dean has a mind of his own, but he locks it away. You ask him to do something, and he'll do it. You take it for granted and it's only when it's too late that you actually stop and think, realise he's never asked for anything himself his whole damn life.

Eventually, dad died. Too many beers, or maybe he just over-exerted himself beating the crap out of Dean. Whatever it was, he flopped over and died, just like that. Dean was in shock, I guess. For a while, he just stayed with me. He couldn't understand why I wasn't more upset. Sure, the guy was my dad, but towards the end of his life, I didn't think of him as a father at all. He was like a stranger to me.

Dean wasn't devastated, either; he was sad, of course, but I think more of his problem was that he just didn't know what to do with his life.

After a while of him moping around, I got sick of it. We got into a fight; I kicked him out. It's not something I'm proud of.

 

'Of course, Dean being Dean, took it as another rejection, abandonment, whatever you want to call it. Thought it meant I'd kicked him out because he wasn't good enough, or something. He'd call every now and again, only when he was drunk, and he'd talk down the phone about what it felt like to be needed, telling me he often wondered what it was like to be loved. I always thought he was just stoned out of his mind and I never really listened.

We were back on civil terms, I suppose, and occasionally I'd drive out and visit whatever motel he was staying at, when he'd call, drunk again, and tell me he was sad, needed to see me. “Just drunk talk”, I'd tell myself. “He just needs me to go help him out again”. He was starting to drink more heavily, too, just like dad, always holding a glass of gin or whisky or a bottle of beer. Anything that was there, really. He was sleeping with hookers every night and I don't even want to know how he got his money. By then I was studying to be a lawyer and our lives were at the opposite ends of the spectrum.'

Sam's voice falters a little, chokes.

'He used to tell me how proud of me he was, all the time. _All_ the damn time. I told him to piss off. Told him I despised his lifestyle.' Sam heaves in a shuddering breath and Cas casts his eyes downwards.

'I told him he was just like dad. That I wanted him to stop calling, stop seeing me, stop relying on me to come visit him and give him a pick-me-up every time he felt bad about the shitty way he chose to live. I told him I didn't need him and I walked out without looking back. I broke him, even if I didn't realise it at the time. And for months afterwards, I felt _good_ about it. I'd look back and think, _yeah, I made the right choice. He was dragging me down._ '

Sam's hands are shaking in his lap.

'I don't know how his life went after that, but it wasn't well. I mean, look where we are now.'

He looks up, catches Cas's eyes.

Cas opens his mouth; hesitates, and then opens it again.

'He called out for you.' He tells Sam.

'What do you mean?'

'When I found him. He came round briefly, said your name. “Sammy, I'm sorry.”'

Sam's fists clench tight, eyes squeeze shut for a second. 'He apologised?'

Cas nods, and he's sure the mingled pity and sympathy he's feeling is leaking through his eyes.

'Son of a bitch.' Sam mutters, and then stands.

'I just need some air.' He tells Cas, pushing a smile onto his face. 'I'll be right back.'

 

Cas nods, smiles back, watches as Sam walks away and turns the corner.

He pretends not to hear the sound of something crashing to the floor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Cas is asleep when Dean wakes up.

A nurse has her hand on his shoulder, is shaking him gently.

He comes to, and jumps at the contact.

'You're Sam? Sam Winchester?' She asks, and his brain, foggy with sleep, replies with

'yes, yes, that's me-' _wait, no, what-_

'could you come this way please? Your brother's woken up.'

 _shit, no-_ 'Uh- no- I'm not-'

'It's fine, sir, he's been asking for you.' She pulls open the door to his room and ushers him inside. 'You'll be fine, Mr. Winchester.'

'No, no, I'm not-'

The door shuts in his face, and Cas groans.

'I'd better not get into trouble over this.' He mutters. 'So not-'

 

'And who the fuck are you?'

 

The voice is raspy, weak, but deep.

Cas's head snaps up and Dean's staring straight back at him.

'Sorry.' Cas mumbles. 'A bit of, uh, mistaken identity-'

'You literally just told her you were my brother.'

'No, well, yes, but I mean, accidentally-' He breaks off. 'I didn't mean to.'

 

Dean just looks at him.

 

'Really, though. Who are you?'

'Castiel. Castiel Novak. I'm the one who found you-'

 

And then Dean's tone is cold, harsh, and he's forcing words out through tight, thin lips.

'Get out.'

'I'm sorry?'

'I said, get out. I have nothing to say to you.'

Cas steps back, bewilderment etched across his face.

'What? What did I do?'

Dean's eyes are narrowed in fury. 'What didn't you do?' He snarls. 'Do you think I want to be here? Don't you think there was a _reason_ I was dying in the first place?'

 _Ah_. Cas finally realises what Dean's talking about.

'You're not glad I saved you.' He murmurs.

'Damn right I'm not.' Dean's leaning forwards and there's a force of sheer emotion driving the words from his throat.

'I wanted to die, and I still do.' Dean spits the words, syllables coated in poison. 'I have nothing here, and I don't enjoy living. But I'm stuck here because of _you_ . So I'm sorry if I'm being a little fucking obnoxious but can you just _get the fuck out_?'

Cas doesn't think he's ever seen anyone so angry, despite being in a hospital bed.

 

So he gets the fuck out.

 

* * *

 

 

He visits again, but Dean's asleep, and there are tear tracks on his cheeks.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sam's there the next morning, and Cas spots him. 'Hey! Sam.'

'Hi, Castiel. How's Dean?'

'He woke up last night, when you were away. And please, call me Cas.'

'All right, Cas then. Did he say anything?'

Cas winces.

'Kind of...He's pretty angry.'

Sam frowns. 'What? Angry? Why? You saved him.'

Cas snorts. 'Exactly.'

Sam just looks at him in confusion, and Cas sighs.

'It's called suicide for a reason, Sam.'

'Oh. Oh, shit.'

 

But Sam walks to the door anyway, swings it open and steps inside. As it closes behind him, Cas can't help but move forwards and peer through the window.

Sam's sitting by Dean's bedside and his head is in his hands.

Dean's still sleeping.

 

 

 


End file.
